After some light refreshments – in the shape of a bacon cheese burger, fries and three bottles of beer – Dean sprawled across the double bed on his back, eyes closed. It felt good to be back at Bobby's again. Finally, on day thirteen, Dean had decided that it had all been some fucked up kind of waking dream, and resigned to the fact that Cas was still dead. Or whatever he was. He let out a weary sigh. He could deal. He had to. He couldn't let himself believe the other night had been anything else. Cas wasn't coming back. He would never see him again. He would never stand that close to him again, be able to reach out and touch him, touch those Wings, and he'd never be able to tell him how he felt.

His hair was still wet from another shower, he could feel the now cold water trickling down his neck. It was making the hairs raise on the back of his neck and goose pimples spread. And his arms. It sent a cold gust of air over him and made a soft fluttering noise – a noise which his heart seemed to become perfectly in time with. Now he was making it up. He knew those prickles and that fluttering. In one quick move, Dean was on his feet.

Castiel didn't so much as flinch. In fact, Castiel was perfectly motionless. Even his eyes were fixed, staring at the wall. No. I'm seeing things. Again. It's part of it, the whole going crazy thing. Is he shaking? He definitely was.

Long moments passed whilst both men stood still, frozen to their respective place. In an instant, they both turned to one another and said each other's names in perfect unison.

Dean chuckled and rocked back on his heels. "Awkward..."

They were somehow mere inches apart, but neither dared make any sort of move, neither to close to the gap or widen it further. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe the apology for his inappropriate behavior during their last encounter would be a bit less painful and damaging to his manliness if he didn't have to make eye contact with the Angel before him. "Listen, Cas... The other night..." What, exactly Dean? I didn't mean to get a raging lob on whilst nibbling on your neck; that's just the way I greet Angels who return from the dead. Fuck, fuck... Say something. Anything.

"You made a mistake?" The honey-gravel tone made Dean's body perk up in ways he really didn't need it to at that very moment in time. Dean actually heard the pain in Cas' voice, and he couldn't help but look up in to his cerulean gaze. Dean opened his mouth, paused then closed it again.

Castiel studied Dean's face, searching for an answer. All he could read was total despair and confusion. Denial perhaps?

Dean sighed loudly and looked to the floor. His eyes caught sight of Castiel's damaged Wings, and again, he became mesmerized. He itched to touch them again, to run his fingers through those Feathers. It was like a drug. Cas was like a drug. And all of a sudden, Dean wanted his Angel close to him again. He wanted their bodies touching, his fingers coaxing purr-hums from the Angel as he smoothed those Wings.

Castiel was so close, his eyes searing in to Dean's, his head tilted in his signature Cas-is-confused way, his hair tousled and wild, parts falling in to his face, and the rough stubble adoring his face, and by fuck if he didn't look damn sexy. Dean closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. His skin prickled and burned. Hot breath sent a new set of goose pimples down Dean's spine. He didn't move. He didn't have to. Cas was right there. So close, Dean could feel his body heat. Then Dean could feel his body against his own. His breathing shallowed as he felt his blood rushing South. No, Dean, come on. He's a fucking Angel. And not like Anna; at least she was female. With a female name in a female vessel. Cas is a dude. A trembling hand closed down on the hand shaped scar on his arm, and Cas breathed Dean's name in to his ear, and he asked him what was wrong. Dean tried to protest and push the Angel away from him, but he succeeded only in grasping hold of the trench coat and pulling him closer to him. Dean bit his lip and pushed the trench coat from Cas' back, then the suit jacket, then slid his hand gently over Castiel's body, coming to rest on his hip. He squeezed on to that hip and pulled it against his own. Dean had certainly had a lot of experience in the bedroom, but never with another man, and he couldn't deny, never with such raw need and desire. Three and a half years. Castiel hadn't known or understood, but Dean had known very well what his feelings for Cashad been. He had denied it, and covered it up, acting probably a bit too much like a jerk around him. Dean opened his eyes to find himself face to face with his Angel. The intensity in Castiel's eyes was cosmic. Suddenly, Dean realized what that gaze had meant, he had dismissed what he had read from it. This made his breath catch in his throat. The Angel had at least had an idea what he felt for his Charge. The prolonged stares, the invasion of his personal space on a regular basis. He never did it to Sam or Bobby, only to Dean.

There was a reason he had put off that hooker. Castiel didn't want to give himself to anyone. Cas relished the feeling of Dean's hand running over his vessel's body, and the heat and the tingling. He pushed Dean against the wall, taking both of them by surprise, and Dean's hands clasped at his waist. "Cas," Dean's head hit the wall and he closed his eyes again. Castiel hesitated, unsure of how to follow this through, but Dean took charge, and pulled him in to their first kiss. To begin with, their lips danced against one another, a tender, nervous display, then Dean gently ran his teeth across Castiel's lips. Castiel grabbed Dean's wrists and slammed them in to the wall either side of his head, plaster raining down on both of them. After an initial jolt of shock, Dean glanced at each of his hands, then he grinned at Castiel. The next kiss was rampant, and Dean couldn't help the little smile that joined it – I guess this is what he learned from the Pizza Man – and hands from both parties roamed unexplored and previously forbidden territories. Castiel's hand crossed Dean's pelvis and rested right next to the swelling in his pants, Dean couldn't stop the moan of Cas' name escaping his lips.

There was no denying it now; three years of ignoring their urges, of denial, and who gave a fuck if that loud crack was the sound of the bed breaking as Cas threw him down on to it, following closely after, and so what if Bobby and Sam could hear them from downstairs, because fuck it. Cas was alive, by some freak act of God, or maybe he'd never died in the first place, and he was with Dean, and that was all that mattered.

Somehow they were wearing next to nothing, and their bodies moved together in harmony and the last thing Dean could remember was Cas' voice growling his name in to his ear, and wondering where the actual fuck Cas had picked these moves up from as he felt himself losing control, eyes rolling back in his head in pure ecstasy.

I prefer this version of Cas' return =p I must apologize for my writer's block, and I must apologize for the rushedness, but I shall be computerless again tomorrow, and back to the world of pen and paper ]= Reviews muchly appreciated, and all reviewers shall receive returned reviews on any of their work once I have computerified again =D Since it's Easter I wish everyone full scale chocolate Dean/Cas/Sam zzz depending on your own taste ^-^ Love

~Lintu x x